


Swallowed

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:39:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's difficult for Anton to keep things casual when John has consumed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swallowed

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up to [Smug](http://archiveofourown.org/works/145781).

Now that the media blitz is over and they can’t hide in hotel rooms anymore, Anton calls when he wants John to come over. Sometimes, John actually does. His place is small in comparison to the older man’s house, which has at least three guest rooms, a garage that would be perfect for jam sessions and an impressively large pool. Anton always tries to talk his way into the house somehow but John always waves him off, saying _Nah, man_ , and _Are you crazy?_ although it’s not like his wife has to know why he’s there. And the kid is what, one? The kid doesn’t care.

But it’s all good as long as John comes over sometimes, and they can sit on the floor like this and strum their guitars and pass a joint back and forth as if they’re allowed to do this; as if John is twenty, too, and has no family or cares or worries in the world. Anton tilts his head and listens to John play as attentively as he can, though he’s more interested in the smoke break that follows, when the music pauses and John’s elegant fingers lift the joint to his lips. The circle of his thumb and forefinger obscure his mouth and Anton looks away. He nods to himself.

“Is that new? What you just played?”

“Yeah, just something I’ve been tinkering around with. Trying to get it to bend to my will.” He exhales the smoke as he talks and Anton sits up straighter, watching it leave the corners of John’s mouth. “How ’bout you?” he asks. “Working on anything new?”

“Same old,” Anton replies. He scratches at his bare chest and comes across a dried smear of lube from earlier. He wets his thumb on his tongue and tries to rub it off. “S’cool that you’re here.”

John grins easily. “I like coming here. It takes me back. Bachelorhood, you know?” He passes the joint back to Anton. “A giant bag of weed and not a thing in the fridge.”

“Vodka in the freezer,” Anton points out. He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Mustard. Cheetos in the pantry.”

“Cheetos,” John repeats, still grinning. “Aw, honey, you remembered.”

John laughs at the boyish blush that colors Anton's cheeks and starts plucking at his guitar strings again. Anton watches the ring on his hand glint with the California sun pouring in through the loft window. He’s never asked John to take it off because he knows the answer would be pretty tough to swallow.

“You’re such a tween,” John says next. “Come on; show me the Miley Cyrus poster you’re hiding. I know it’s in here somewhere.”

Anton ducks his head and pulls from the joint. He’s learned a long time ago not to ask for too much. John’s come a long way, he’s earned his life. Anton is here for the in-between moments, the ones spent on a dirty hardwood floor, in a dimly lit room with no red carpet or matching bedroom sets, far flung from the realm of perfection. He puts out the joint in the ashtray, pushes his guitar out of his lap and stands. He lets John stare as long as he wants as he walks over in his low-slung jeans. He tries to give him a meaningful look.

“Okay,” John says, looking back at him. He puts his own guitar aside and leans back against the foot of his bed, unzipping his jeans. He pushes the denim down to his ankles, spreads his knees apart and repeats, “Okay. C’mere, then.”

Anton kneels between his legs and bends forward, wrapping his fingers around John’s cock and licking across the head. He knows as well as John that this is all he’ll ever get, and so he tries to enjoy himself as he takes his length into his mouth, focusing on the trail of John’s thumb along his jaw. And if Anton hates him for it, he’ll never tell. It’s enough to make sure he remains one of the constants on John’s mind; that in between doctor appointments and baby formula and cleaning up spilled Cheerios, John’s mind will sometimes drift back to the dark heat of Anton’s bedroom, Anton’s mouth. That one day, Anton won’t be the only one who lets this swallow him whole.


End file.
